Nairobi National Park is a veritable flipped script. There was once a world where human habitation was surrounded by wilderness; now, the national park within city limits illustrates the inverse. Its existence points to a not-too-distant future, where the ever-encroaching hand of man forms significant features of the landscape. There is coexistence to some degree, though. Fenced on three sides to shield the park’s inhabitants from multi-lane highways and the sprawling metropolis of Nairobi unfolding beyond; the park remains open to the south to allow for free movement of wildlife.
Cruising on the tarmac skirting the perimeter of the park, it feels as if one is nearing a lost world. The awareness of one’s ignorance regarding what lies beyond the dark green curtain is both humbling and inspiring. If stars align, a giraffe or two may be spotted on the horizon. But there is a cornucopia of wildlife that can potentially be found within Nairobi National Park - hundreds of species of birds plus lions, leopards, buffalo, rhino, baboons, monitor lizards - excitement naturally lifts upon nearing the gates.
Such is the lottery of being in nature. You’ll never see all the things, all the time. Five years ago when we visited last, there was much that we did not see. It was a lesson in humility, of leaving fate in the hands of those who can shoulder the responsibility, of letting go. This time, we arrived in Kenya with the understanding that three weeks on safari would deliver in ways we would have no hope of predicting.
Our previous visit was in the height of the dry season. Even though the rising sun turned everything it touched into gold, it was clear that we were on the tail end of the rainy season - anything that could be green, was.
There had been torrential rains over the few weeks immediately preceding our visit, and all seemed freshly washed. The sky was crisp, the clouds themselves seemed satiated as they drifted unhurriedly from one horizon to another.
Despite having just entered the park, it seemed as if we had left the human world far behind from the moment we crossed the threshold. It was proving difficult to cover any meaningful distance, as every ten metres there would be some other jaw-droppingly beautiful bird simply sitting on a branch, waiting to have its picture taken.
Countless bird photographers complain about finding the perfect perch - one that is unhindered by any rogue twigs or foliage - only to have nothing but the air touch it. It wasn’t long before we found one such perch, only that a bird was already sitting on the perch with a healthy looking snack, looking at us.
It wasn’t just any bird, too, it was a Superb Starling. Supremely common throughout much of East Africa, we would be seeing many of them over the coming weeks. This fact did little to encumber enthusiasm, though.
Within a few seconds, the starling was ousted from its position by an even more spectacular looking bird. Pin-tailed Whydahs may be small, but males are famous for their elaborate and alluring rituals, accentuated by their extensive tail streamers.
There is constant drama in nature, and wherever one spends time and attention, this shall be made apparent. Seedeaters moved around in the shrubs while fiscals closely monitored all movement from lofty perches. Movements in the grass could be francolin, quail, or sparrow-lark - if feathered - if not, possibilities are endless with a wide selection of furry or scaly contenders.
Birds are attractive to many by virtue of their power of flight; symbols of freedom soaring above us lowly, terrestrially tethered beings. In the African bush, however, there are birds that lack this ability. In fact, they barely look like birds at all, having swapped aerodynamics for pure power and resilience in an unforgiving climate.
Ostriches are strange to look at, but it is definitely stranger to hear their footsteps at full tilt. On our previous safari, an ostrich bolted past us as we were slowly rolling down the road and I will never forget the staccato thumping of a hundred kilos of bird kicking up dust as it disappeared into the brush.
The natural world has a history much greater than our own manufactured version, and one cannot help but pause and ponder when in the presence of storybook style animals especially. Surely, ancient trees swaying under a timeless sky can invoke a sense of wonder and glorious insignificance, but these are the animals that welcome us into the world. As babies, we are often surrounded by depictions of giraffes, rhinos, lions, and many other animals. There is a feeling of having come full circle, immediately followed by a sense of grave responsibility to ensure that these fantastical beasts do not disappear for good within our generation.
They exist in a profound silence, the only sounds being the gentle swishing of leaves as the wind coursed through punctuated by the occasional pulling of vegetation by dextrous limbs, whether tongue, trunk, or lips.
The White Rhinoceros did not get its name from the colour white. In fact, the word “white” is a derivation from the Afrikaans word “weit”, which means “wide” - referring to the wide lips of this animal.
Throughout this trip, there were times when another safari vehicle would encounter us stopped along one of the roads within a national park; our guide would have to swiftly whisper the word “ndege” to the other driver, after which we’d only see the dust of the other vehicle as it sped off into the distance. “Ndege” is Swahili for “bird”. At one point, we even had some soon-to-be-disappointed tourists call out from an approaching vehicle: “No animal?” to which we responded in the affirmative, for we were enjoying any of the myriad of birds on show - deliberately ignoring that birds are in fact, also animals. We wondered how many incredulous sightings were missed because folks were scanning the horizon for any of the famed big five.
Big cats were the unspoken target, of course. Regardless of how modest we all are in our expectations, there is always the consideration of how one would truly react to the presence of something so charismatic as a large feline predator. There is a regality about any and all cats, perhaps due to the knowledge that they emerged as the pinnacle of predatory evolution, worthy of worship and human servitude.
Seeing any of the smaller cats, however, was nowhere on anyone’s radar. One of the many bends in the road through the park concealed a tawny, spotted lump at the edge of the grass. We skidded to a halt. In this patch of wilderness within a major city, it was only us, and a Serval. Part of the magic of safari is that wildlife tends to ignore the human presence. In a country where all forms of hunting have been outlawed for almost half a century, wild animals enjoy being able to concern themselves with what truly matters. Which was, in the case of our Serval, something scuttling beneath the carpet of bent grasses.
Many of these predators are depicted with prey, but they are more often than not unsuccessful in their pursuits. So it was in this case as well, after disappearing momentarily in the grass, the cat strolled right past us.
Every sighting is special in its own right, but the absolute improbability of encountering a wild Serval during daylight lends to it being slightly more memorable than most. My favourite photo of the cat, however, was of it slinking out of view. Partly obscured by the vegetation, it was returning to its status as a spectre of the African bush. That image was shared to my social media, viewable via this link.
There is a relatively even distribution of grassland and wetland throughout the park, lush waterways in the right season attract all manners of waterfowl along with temperamental hippopotami and crocodiles. Herons, egrets, spoonbills, and ibis dotted shorelines where there was deeper water. Eventually a small flock of Pink-backed Pelicans cruised into a secluded lagoon, a process that lasted several minutes. With a wingspan exceeding nine feet, these massive birds must descend in a gradual spiral from their lofty cruising altitude.
Nairobi National Park supports a small population of Critically Endangered White-backed Vultures. Somewhat symbolically, they are often stationed at the gates to the park.
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